


Though Years May Go

by Deepdarkwaters



Category: Malory Towers - Enid Blyton
Genre: Boarding School, F/F, Girls Kissing, Horses, Kissing, Misses Clause Challenge, Sixth Form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:09:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5466002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deepdarkwaters/pseuds/Deepdarkwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bill, are you frightened?"</p><p>Bill wriggled in the hay, rolling closer and ducking beneath Clarissa's arm to settle her curly head there against her shoulder. "Of what, darling?"</p><p>"Everything. The world."</p><p>"I should think I'd be exhausted, being frightened of <i>everything</i>. It's no wonder poor old Mary-Lou sleeps like the dead."<br/> </p><p>Near the end of their last term at Malory Towers, Clarissa & Bill talk about the future (and also kiss a lot in a heap of stable hay).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Though Years May Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lefaym](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefaym/gifts).



> Title from the Lippman/Dee song [Too Young](http://youtu.be/4LnwsrU0eK0) \- Nat King Cole's (best) recording of this was released in 1951, the same year as the last Malory Towers book.
> 
> Dear Lefaym - I've been writing two versions of this story at the same time because I couldn't decide which I liked better, so I'm going to post the second in Madness tomorrow or as a NYR. Happy Yuletide!

The stables were cool, all shade and dappled light where the breaking dawn came streaking in dusty beams through the knotholes in the wood. Clarissa shivered in her thin school coat, and then again in a very different way when she felt Bill's arm creep around her waist. She tilted her head forward a fraction, knowing what was coming, and smiled at the gentle press of lips on the back of her neck beneath the parting of her plaits.

"Can't you wait?" she murmured, almost laughing and already breathless. She touched her fingertips to Bill's arm where it was closed tight around her waist like a belt, stroking up the tanned bare skin to the messy folds of shirt cuff at her elbow. "You'll have to iron this before lessons, Miss Oakes will have a fit if she sees you crumpled so early in the morning."

"We'll have to change altogether, I should think." Bill's voice was a hoarse breath against her neck, punctuated with more kisses; Clarissa felt the tiny hairs there wanting to stand up, and the skittering pulse of her heartbeat. It wasn't frightening any more, this flutter, it didn't leave her feeling weak and sick: whenever Bill was the cause of it, she felt she could race to the top of Langley Hill and take off like a bird, go soaring through the clouds and halfway to the sun before anybody even knew they were missing. "Hay and dust and dirt all down our backs."

"That sounds ominous or promising, I can't decide," Clarissa said, and the kisses became laughter that rumbled quiet against her skin before Bill released her waist and took her hand instead, drawing her down between the horses to the bays at the end of the stable where Merrylegs and Thunder were waiting impatiently to be greeted.

"Hello, boy," Bill said softly, and Thunder whinnied happily in reply, nudging his soft nose into the cup of her empty palm as Merrylegs did the same to Clarissa. "We'll take you out for a good run later, shall we? All the way to Billington and back if the weather holds."

"And if you finish your French," Clarissa reminded her, face buried in Merrylegs' prickly mane to breathe in the familiar comforting scent and warmth there.

Bill grimaced at that. "Blow French. I shall never need to conjugate a verb in my life after Malory Towers. Not unless Thunder starts speaking French. I have no doubt he could if he wanted to, such a clever old fellow." Clarissa looked up, amused, to find Bill kissing him on the nose and gazing up at his bright black eyes. "You don't want to speak French, do you, old boy? No beastly geometry when you're a horse, no darning or Tennyson or silly dates of kings. I'd much rather be a horse."

And because this was the sort of talk that could continue for hours at a time if left unchecked, Clarissa let Merrylegs go and tugged Bill's hand sharply until she stumbled with a startled, laughing little cry, and fell down on top of Clarissa in the heap of clean hay. She sneezed violently, twice, then her freckled face broke into a wicked grin and she twisted about, taking Clarissa's narrow wrists in her hands and pinning them above her head.

"That was unsporting," Bill accused – although she didn't seem to mind really, cheeks starting to blush beautifully and her bright eyes travelling from their hands, down Clarissa's arms to her face, lingering there on her mouth.

"Oh dear, was it?" Clarissa murmured, shifting her arms just for the shivery bolt of joy she felt at Bill's tightening fingers. "I'll make it up to you, then, if you tell me how—"

But there was no telling, no words at all, only the sudden press of Bill's mouth meeting hers, the rough velvet slide of tongue on her lower lip, and the gentle sounds of _yes_ and _please_ transformed from words into almost musical notes hummed out through her nose. She tried to move her arms again and Bill released her, holding Clarissa's face in her hands instead, one thumb stroking gently over her cheekbone as Clarissa's fingers threaded through the mess of cropped black curls behind Bill's head to keep her close. One of the horses made a noise, a gentle whinny that sounded like a laugh. Clarissa felt Bill's mouth shifting into a smile against her own at that, and thought with a sort of rising, bubbling excitement: _Next year. No French, no anything, just horses. Just Bill._

Clarissa shivered, feeling fingertips loosen her tie and top few buttons and then the careful, tickling rasp of nails down the ridge of her collarbone. In a halting little whisper, trying to speak between the soft kisses Bill was leaving scattered on her mouth and chin and down the long line of her throat, she asked, "Bill, are you frightened?"

Bill wriggled in the hay, rolling closer and ducking beneath Clarissa's arm to settle her curly head there against her shoulder, fingers stilling at the curve where shoulder met neck. "Of what, darling?"

"Everything. The world."

"I should think I'd be exhausted, being frightened of _everything_. It's no wonder poor old Mary-Lou sleeps like the dead."

"Bill," Clarissa said patiently, digging her in the ribs until she laughed.

"Oh don't, your fingers are all bone!" Bill snatched Clarissa's hand away and brought it up between their faces, clasping the palm between both of her own and kissing her fingertips. "What's the matter, old girl? So glum all of a sudden."

"Not glum. But I do rather wish we had another term or two before we're thrown out on our own."

"We're not really on our own, are we?" Bill said sensibly. "We've got your parents and mine, splendid old things, all of them. And your sister and my brothers. And Miss Peters and our friends and all the girls we're going to teach to ride, girls who can't talk yet and girls who aren't even born yet. When I think of the future I see spools and spools of it, like an unravelling film reel for a picture we haven't seen yet. Aren't you excited to see how it goes? I feel it here—" She reached for Clarissa's hand and pulled it down between them to rest on her stomach above her belt "—like butterflies beating at the walls."

"That's what normal girls call 'being frightened'," Clarissa told her, feeling her mouth curling up into a smile despite all her efforts to stop it, one that morphed instantly into a laugh when Bill tugged one of her plaits and leaned in to kiss her again.

"What do I care for normal girls when there's an extraordinary one here in my arms?"

Clarissa's laughter rang out louder, spoiling the kiss and making her whole body shake. "Have you been reading Mam'zelle Dupont's dreadful romances? For shame—" and Bill kissed her fiercely to shush her, pretending she wasn't laughing as well.

It seemed a long time later when they parted, kisses becoming slower and shorter until they faded entirely into breaths and murmurs. Clarissa bumped her nose gently against Bill's, smiling at the amused huff of air it knocked from her, and used her fingers to tilt Bill's face down for one final kiss on the forehead.

"We ought to go back. There'll be a terrible row if we're late for breakfast."

Bill just grumbled, flinging her arm melodramatically across her face and then peeking out when Clarissa was standing, all bright eyes and impish grin. "No meal times. Now _there's_ a reason not to be frightened of the future. I daresay there'll be some days I'll kiss you until noon, if you'll allow it."

"Only until noon?" Clarissa teased, walking backwards down the two rows of horses, reaching out to stroke any noses that poked themselves within reach but not looking away from the girl still sprawled on the heap of hay with her skirt hitched up high enough to show her scuffed knees, hair in its usual disarray and tumbling down over one eye no matter how many times she stuck out her bottom lip and tried to blow away the curls – wonderful Bill, brave and droll and clumsy and incapable of concentrating on anything that wasn't Thunder, unless it was Clarissa herself. Perhaps it wasn't so difficult not to fear the future after all, she thought, and held out her hand for Bill to come and hold.


End file.
